Ameera, Unveiled (33 page)

The music played as I swooshed my skirt for three-and-a-half minutes, fanning it behind my head at the end. As I exited the stage with a confident walk, it dawned on me that I’d put little thought into dancing the Gypsy number. It’d flowed from one transition to the next, and I hadn’t freaked out at a missed step.

“Looked good,” Sybil said. “The attitude’s cute.”

As we stood at the bleachers, taking off our cumbersome skirts, Melody started her solo.

“One more and we escape the sweatbox,” Polly said. I joined Jennifer, who danced the same part in Lara’s dance.

“You’re right, Jennifer,” I said. “Going through the show daily is helping me get more comfortable with the dances. You snorkeling?”

Jennifer smiled. “No. Massi and I are taking a jet ski before he leaves this afternoon,” she replied.

Melody’s solo ended and she strutted off while the banana trees applauded.

“Okay, ladies . . . one more and we’ll get out of Disco Hell,” Sybil said, walking to her place in line with a ghostlike veil hiding her face. Silk puffed with each step. Ruth manned the music player. We left Lara’s spot open. It’d be nice to have her fill it.

As we finished our last dance, I saw Massi leaning against the arch. His camera hung from his shoulder as he smiled at us. “Buongiorno, principessa,” he said.

Jennifer blushed and walked toward him.

“May I get a picture of the group before you leave?” he asked, his Italian accent making the question sing.

“Do you know who you’re asking?” Kelly said, laughing. “Do belly dancers want to have their picture taken?”

The troupe migrated toward the dance-pole stage and formed two lines with the glass window providing a backdrop of tropical bushes. He took several photos then approached the stage, offering Sybil his hand as she slipped off.

“Ciao, bellissime!” Massi said, bowing to each of us. He raised his camera and took a few solo shots of Jennifer. The rest of us slipped silently out of the disco.

“I’m starving,” Polly said, balling her gypsy skirt and hip scarf.

“Wanna meet for breakfast?” Kelly asked, pushing the door open to a refreshing breeze.

“Let’s meet in the dining room in ten minutes and discuss greeting Lara when she comes in this afternoon,” Sybil said. “Ruth’s got an idea.” She looked at Ruth and they started snickering.

As we climbed the stairs from the disco, Hedo guests waved and shouted to us.

“Don’t forget class at 1:30 p.m.,” Sybil reminded us, showing her dimples.

We parted at the fork of the path, jingling as we climbed the incline. I looked behind and saw Jennifer catching up with us.

“Where’s Massi?” I asked.

“He went to pack so we can jump on the jet ski before he leaves,” Jennifer said. “I need to eat breakfast. Everyone sitting together?”

I nodded.

“Do you have the Palmetto Oasis banner?” Sybil asked, looking at Jennifer.

“In my room,” Jennifer said.

Ruth and Sybil snickered again as we entered our doorway porches.

“Let’s talk at breakfast,” Sybil suggested, opening her door. Polly and I looked at each other and shrugged.

“What’cha think, Polly?” I asked, dropping my stuff over the suitcase in the corner.

“It can only be fun,” Polly said, laughing and dropping her props on the bed. She looked up to the ceiling and rearranged her hair.

“Really?” I said, looking up. We both laughed and headed to the dining room.

The table was quiet as we devoured plates of breakfast. I added a waffle and strawberries to my usual eggs and bacon. The gluten would hate me, but I needed the fuel to keep warm during snorkeling.

Sybil returned to the table with more orange juice. “Jennifer, what time’s Lara in today?”

Chewing, Jennifer held up a manicured finger. “Around one o’clock. Then she has to catch the shuttle.”

“Can you get her on her cell?” Sybil asked.

“Yeah, we put international on our cells before we left. I told her to call when she landed,” Jennifer said.

“Ruth and I have an idea we want to throw out,” Sybil said. “Remember when we were coming up to the resort and that girl flashed us on the corner?”

“How can I ever get it out of my mind?” Kelly said with a sour face.

“The front desk told me that’s called Flasher Corner,” Sybil continued. “What do you think about us waiting for her on the corner and hiding behind the banner with our shorts tucked up and our bathing suit tops untied? It’d make her think we were naked behind it.” She laughed.

Jennifer’s laughter dominated the table. “I’m game. I love shocking her.”

We all agreed.

“Good!” Sybil said. “So depending on when she calls, we’ll have a reasonable window to be in the lobby and walk to the corner in shorts and tops that de-shoulder.”

“Ladies, I’ve got a prince arriving on a Sea-doo. See you in class!” Jennifer said, pushing her plate away.

“Take protection,” Kelly said. We all looked at her. “A life jacket, guys. Where’re your minds?”

Jennifer laughed. “Toodle-loo.”

“I’m gonna meet with the hotel manager before snorkeling,” Sybil said, pushing away from her chair. “I’m still working on a show. If nothing else, we’ve got a shot at Grand Lido.”

The waitress approached our table to remove the breakfast plates.

“I need to change into something else and grab my purse,” Melody said.

The breakfast round-robin broke up.

“I’m gonna change and grab my wallet,” Polly said. “I’ll meet you in the lobby, Ruth. See you at lunch, Kat?”

“I’ll be in the dining room.”

As everyone left the table, I lingered with Kelly and Denise. Kelly was still nursing a cup of coffee and picking on a pastry.

“What’re you wearing for Mardi Gras night?” Denise asked me, refilling her water glass.

“I brought an outfit and a kitty mask,” I said. “I think Melody bought the same one.”

“I’ll be a blue butterfly,” Kelly said. “I love butterflies.” That was no surprise. She’d given us a big hint the night she’d painted her back and flashed the photographer.

“I’m wearing a feather mask with a bordello-style red corset and a tiered black skirt,” Denise said. “I modeled it for Elvis before we left.” She raised her eyebrows to invite us to draw our own conclusions.

“How was your shelling this morning?” I asked.

Denise elbowed Kelly and chuckled.

“Ruth went with me. We walked for about thirty minutes down the beach before she spotted a water bird she’d never seen before,” Denise said. “A local smoking a reefer walked toward us and stopped to ask what we were looking at. Ruth told him the name of the bird and he tried to correct her. She opened her book to the page and showed him why she insisted it was the other name. He kept smoking as he politely looked over her shoulder at book and bird,” Denise said, chuckling at her recollection. “She didn’t miss a beat but kept teaching him about the bird. Then she told him it was nice to meet him and we turned around to head back. After we were a little distance from him, she looked at me and asked me very naïvely, ‘Was he smoking pot’?”

“I love Ruth,” Kelly remarked. “But I think she spent more of her college days in books than at parties.”

“I’ve had two people walking on the beach ask if I smoked,” Denise said. “That’s local code for ‘Do you wanna buy some marijuana?’ Or as they call it—ganja.”

“Geez, someone asked me that the other day,” I said, feeling a little naïve myself. “I thought they meant cigarettes.”

They laughed good-naturedly at me.

“I’m gonna get my suit and head toward the dock,” I said, scooting back from the table. “Thanks for the warning on the ganja. At least I know what I’m turning down now!”

As I started my walk up the path, guests called out to me and waved. I even got a shout out as I crossed the pool deck. I tried to imitate Jennifer’s prom-queen wave.

“Don’t forget our class at 1:30 p.m. in the fitness center,” I said to a female guest.

“Way to go, Kat,” I heard behind me. I turned to see Sybil, so I stopped to let her catch up. “How was the meeting?” I asked.

“I might be able to get us a show over at Grand Lido tomorrow night,” Sybil said. “Still unsure about here though. Maybe if he gets good feedback from across the street, the entertainment manager will plug us in on Friday. Glitter and cross your fingers.”

I veered toward my room. “See you at the dock. I checked the board stats. You might wanna bring a light jacket. Might be a little breezy, and the water isn’t particularly warm,” I said.

I might not be the most knowledgeable about dancing, but I knew a little something about water conditions from diving.

26

“Hey, hooker. How’d you beat us here?” Kelly asked.

Everyone was carrying a beach bag with a towel peeking from the top, ready for our snorkeling trip.

“Never like being late to class.” I grinned.

We walked down the wooden pier to the gear pile.

We were handed faded, well-used flippers. As we walked to the boat, I felt the wind would increase as we left the bay. My jacket was comforting my chilled body. How could I’ve gone from melting in the disco to shivering on a dock?

“Might be a little rough,” Sybil said. We watched as the crew assisted guests boarding the rocking boat.

I took off my flip-flops as I stepped onto the wet plank, trying to time my footing. “Hey, y’all, get closer to the front of the boat to avoid fumes,” I coached Kelly and Denise as I looked for a bench to rest our bags on.

We picked a bench where the four of us could sit across from each other. We settled in for the boat ride with a dozen other guests, two of whom were sporting perky ta-tas. Apparently, it was a clothing-optional trip.

After the last passenger had boarded and joined the group on the starboard side, the captain stood on the back bench and asked for our attention. “My name is Spyder. Welcome to my boat, Stulliesha. In Jamaican, that means ‘hot, sexy woman,’” he said. We discreetly looked around at the tired V-hulled boat with two old engines puttering as her crew members cast off. The Nude group cheered and high-fived each other.

Spyder kicked the motors into gear, and we lurched with acceleration as the boat started banging through the waves. I grabbed the bench to try to keep myself from flying out of my seat.

Several men in too-tight swimwear focused on the two topless girls. “Don’t y’all look at one time but, holy cow, we’re banging in these waves and those boobs aren’t moving,” Kelly said.

“I guess they’re accessories, not part of the anatomy,” Denise assessed.

“I apologize that the water is a bit rough and, unfortunately, the clarity is down,” explained Spyder when we’d arrived at the snorkeling spot. “There’s minimum current, but we’re going to declare the pool open,” he said, making conditions sound optimistic.

Kelly spit mouthwash into her snorkel and offered it to Denise and Sybil. I reached over the side of the boat and filled my mask with seawater to wet my bangs. I poured the water over my head and pushed all my hair back to reduce the risk of breaking my mask seal. After this, I spit into the mask and rinsed it again in the seawater.

We moved to the back of the boat to join the others in washing-machine waters. Denise slid her fins on and took a giant stride without hesitation. Sybil followed behind her. Kelly struggled with her fins but took Spyder’s hand and jumped into the messy waters, holding her nose. True to my performance history, I was dead last.

“Let’s do it,” I said in my most optimistic voice but assumed my eyes were wide as half dollars in my mask. I waited for the boat to drop off a wave and did a giant stride into the frothy waters. As I surfaced, I gave my “okay” to the crew and ignored the stinging of the cold and angry water. I kicked toward my group.

“There’s nothing to look at,” Kelly said, dipping her face into the surge. We all tried to prove her assessment was untrue, but eventually we met off the side of the boat.

“I’m cold, y’all,” I surrendered. “I’m going back. These conditions are too much unless you just wanna get wet.”

Kelly nodded and pointed to the back of the boat. It didn’t offend me if no one wanted to leave yet. Sybil’s comfort in the water mirrored her performance the night before at Rick’s. She was graceful and in control of the surf.

“May join you in a minute,” Denise said, heading back out to sea from the side of the boat.

I kicked my way through the surf, held onto the cheap aluminum ladder, and handed my fins to Spyder. I left my snorkel and mask on in the event the boat kicked me back into the churning waters. Spyder offered his hand. I’d no pride in accepting his assurance that I wouldn’t lose teeth getting back on.

“Thanks, Spyder,” I said. I headed back to my beach bag to warm up under my towel, blow my nose, and watch the snorkel show off the portside. Kelly was behind me.

“That was anticlimactic. I wasted money on mouthwash,” Kelly said, shedding her snorkeling gear. Her attention left me and went off the side of the boat. “Good grief, look at the girls! It’s like a Florida mermaid show at Weechi Wachi.”

“Except I’d name their show Tacky-Tacky,” I said.

Kelly laughed as we looked back at the group still in the water. The two topless girls were floating with their silicone buoyancy devices. Perky, unflappable breasts crested the seas with erect nipples. The male snorkelers formed a circle and watched as the girls dove, floated, and descended for their entertainment.

“When you dive, you use a BCD . . . a buoyancy compensation device. They’ve put a new spin on the acronym,” I said.

Denise and Sybil emerged and abandoned their equipment.

“That’s some rough snorkeling,” Denise said. Her hair was the flattest I’d seen it till she rubbed her towel over it.

“I think the mermaids aren’t moved by the conditions,” Sybil said, slipping on her jacket.

We laughed as we watched them flash us all with their perky, unmovable breasts like dolphins. I was just about ready to suggest holding up scorecards when Spyder blew a whistle and signaled the stragglers to return to the boat.

As the last guest clambered over the rail, the captain fired up the engines. I shivered under my jacket and smiled at my snorkel buddies.